


The Spaces No Longer Occupied by Hope

by It_MightBe_Love



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Daddy Mickey, Future Fic, I Blame Tumblr, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-27
Updated: 2014-01-27
Packaged: 2018-01-10 07:26:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1156779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/It_MightBe_Love/pseuds/It_MightBe_Love
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing is, Ian doesn't come back right away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Spaces No Longer Occupied by Hope

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely edited, posted without a beta because I am too lazy to find one.

The thing is, Ian doesn't come back right away.

Oh, everyone figures out real quick that Ian did something a little illegal (try massively illegal) to get into the academy; and they keep expecting him to turn up. He's seventeen. Too young to enlist.

The problem is this, Ian makes the mistake of getting obliterated at some shit ass, podunk bar on the farthest side of town because he's gay and he wants a good time where no one is gonna side eye him for eying up the bartender. What happens is one of the motherfucking Brigadier General's happens to  _like_  this bar. (For oddly similar reasons) - and he knows troubled kids when he sees'em and it's cake to ply the kid with some cheese fries before he opens up.

What Brigadier General Conrad Kringle (shut your face Roy, no one cares about your bad Christmas jokes)  _ought_ to do is take the kid before the disciplinary board and have him booted. But... Conrad grew up on the wrong side of the tracks. Thirty years ago he was some fresh faced jackass straight off the rez with more piss and vinegar than this kid seems to manage.

Anyhow, Conrad has a couple favors owed him and it ain't no big thing to get his paperwork fixed. He has Gallagher come to his office so they can have a proper, sober talk and if he thought the kid looked miserable shitfaced and crying over the pissant he left back in Southside, then he looks ready to flee for the hills at the possibility of being dishonorably discharged, (and facing criminal charges) - it takes Conrad twenty minutes and a glass of his best brandy to cool the kids jets.

"The thing is... I was pretty much where you are. Minus the whole identity theft gig. But you're top of your class here, and you've got more spirit and perseverance than I've seen in a while."

Gallagher swallows down bile and horror and plasters on the bravest fucking face Conrad has seen in thirty fucking years and signs the new paperwork.

So Ian doesn't come back right away, in fact- he calls Fiona to let her know he'll be gone longer and he's going to have his checks sent to her. (The enlisting bonus stays in his bank account. He's never had that much money in his life and he doesn't even know what to fucking do with it) -

Conrad takes Ian under his wing, and it's easy to get the paperwork through to take Ian from enlisted to Officer. Ian's one of the best snipers they've got though and it ain't too long before he's graduating the academy with honors and beign shipped off on some close lipped mission or another.

So Ian doesn't come back, and everyone sort of...learns how to not miss him. 

Until he does come back, five years later. Officer's aren't required to visit family when they have leave and anyway there isn't much about Chicago that Ian misses; but it's Thanksgiving and Fiona is engaged to Mike- (Some white collar schmuck from a wealthy family) - and Lip is home for the holidays from graduate school and all Ian can think is Conrad staring at him from across the desk and saying-

"Don't be a shit. You need closure. Five years you been avoiding that shithole you got raised in. Take the two weeks and get the fuck outta here Gallagher. Or next time I ship you out somewhere to blow fuckers up it'll be some rat infested jungle with so much humidity you'll think you're breathin' water."

So Ian goes and... and it's like he unlearned how to fit with his family. Or the space he takes up now fits him differently, he feels too large for the role he plays now in the world but it's still  _good_ to see everyone. Debbie is fuckin' eighteen for chrissakes and Ian has to stare at the brood of boys on their doorstep waiting for her to come out before they take notice of him. (And the army duffle, and the bdus and the gun strapped to his ribcage) -

They scatter under Debbie's delighted shriek.

(Ian wants to say that coming home feels like how it always sounds in the movies. Like  _coming home_. Mostly though the house still smells faintly of Frank, and of whatever crap Carl has goin' on. Of Debbie's perfume and Fiona's cooking and a little of the aftershave that Lip likes. None of these things have changed in five years but Ian feels like he  _has)._

It shouldn't surprise him that the first thing he asks Debbie about is Mickey, she blinks at him, owlishly before shrugging, "Dunno, he moved outta Southside last year?" She says and drops the conversation, phone in her hand already with a text fired off at one of her brood of boys.

Fiona is delighted to see him, hell even Carl and Liam are (Lip is still a little pissed about Ian taking his fucking identity, 'Man what the fuck?' but it was years ago now, water under the bridge and Ian finds a way to settle into this new role without letting it show how much it chafes.

Ian lives in Washington most of the year, and splits the rest of his time between New York and California. 

Chicago feels like an old wound, like the puckered scar from the knife he took his second year in, that carved open his side like he was made of hot butter. It aches like the skin around it does sometimes when it's too hot and dry. Itchy and unpleasant with no way to make it stop. Ian goes for walks, rents a car and drives and drives and drives until he's in a neighborhood he's never seen before. (New property development, Ian guesses).

He parks and finds the first bar he can and takes a seat at the counter and orders a rum and coke. The novelty of having a legal ID still hasn't worn off, even if the haircut is a little dopey. He get's a discount because the bartender sees his Military ID and Ian turns to look around and-

of fucking course he'd wander into a trendy gay bar.

He turns back to the counter and nurses his drink, ignores his phone buzzing away in his pocket and stares hard out the window until the people become shapes, become blurs, because Pissarro-esque impressionist smudges beyond the glass.

Ian is distantly aware of the bar filling up, of people settling beside him and leaving, settling beside him and leaving. Like waves, and the sound carries. Soft at first and then louder until someone jostles him finally, out of his reverie.

"Sorry man-" and Ian turns to blink into Mickey's stupidly blue eyes and they both freeze. Mickey grins and claps his shoulder, "Seriously man, my bad. It was a long ass day. Lemme buy you a drink?"

Ian thinks-  _this isn't Mickey_. Thinks  _this is some weird fucking twilight zone_. Thinks, that is not a dark blue tshirt with the logo for the Chicago fire department on the breast. That those are some impossibly tight chinos. That there are not ten men and women hooting and hollering at Mickey from a table to the left, while Mickey insinuates himself into Ian's space and asks the bartender for a round for "The crew, you know how they get Mischa-" and gestures at Ian, "And whatever my new army buddy is having."

He turns back and smiles, liquid easy and holds out a hand, Mickey Milkovich. I'm part a th-" He turns to shout something offensive at his friends, "Sorry, part a district 5."

Ian swallows and shakes his head, "I know you." He clears his throat, "Though I didn't think five years would make you forget me." And it sounds petulant but how dare Mickey move on with his life. Make something of himself, become...

Realization dawns on Mickey's face, like a blossom unfurling and at first there's something like regret, an age old pain quickly squashed before his smile becomes familiar again, "Well..." He starts, "I'd say somethin' about my shitty memory but I think it doesn't really need sayin'. Christ... you look."

Ian lofts an eyebrow and waits, feels a little validated by Mickey's floundering but mostly wants to take him home and take him apart. (It crests, just below his ribcage. The want that five years and counting in the army couldn't shake apart, or blow up) - "I look what?"

Mickey smirks and takes his tray of drinks, "Why don't you come meet my friends and find out." He says and then the fucker steals Ian's drink so he has to follow.

(Mickey is on track to be made Captain, which is apparently a big deal seein' how he hasn't been at this for more than three years or so. That Mickey is a fucking  _firefighter_  if baffling to Ian. Mickey waves it off with a shrug, "Needed somethin' to do after Svetlana left me in the lurch with a one and a half year old." His daughter, not his biologically, but his name is on the birth certificate, has soft brown skin and bright blonde hair and, "The prettiest damn green eyes in the history of existence." He says, "She's at my sister's for the weekend. Mandy loves the little shit. Every weekend I get my five year old back she comes home with more pink and more glitter. Shit never gets outta the carpets.")

There is a whole host of things about Mickey that don't fit with the idea Ian kept in his head and heart, another space Ian doesn't fit into anymore, except for the way Mickey introduces Ian around as, "My first boyfriend. Sorta. I was pretty much an a-hole back then. Anything he says about me is probably true."

But Mickey's friends easy acceptance of this, of Mickey's arm on Ian, of Mickey's easy smile- quashes Ian's desire to make him bleed. Wraps around the five year ache in Ian's chest, stitches it closed.

Mickey takes him home, but it's Ian who is taken apart. (Mickey makes spinach omelets the next morning, and Ian maims himself on a lego toy set coming out of the bathroom. Mickey's laughter follows Ian back across town to Fiona's and lingers in his throat until that night when Mickey texts him again.

_come to dinner with me_

And Ian does. 

(Later, days or even weeks. Ian tells Conrad about his leave, about the photo of Mickey and his daughter, Katrina, in his wallet. The texts and voicemails. The promises made in the morning light over breakfast and laughter and  _christ_ ,Conrad snorts and passes over another tumbler of brandy and says, "Sometimes it turns out okay."

"You coulda said that five years ago."

"Five years ago you wouldna listened.")


End file.
